What goes together better than cold and dark?
by cianethedevil
Summary: Sank deep in these thoughts Jack almost didn't notice that Pitch had reached him: it was so natural to glimpse the man kneeling behind himself, absently accepting the contact of his arm around the waist and his hand leaning on his shoulder, and the words used to invite him to stop lingering on his pain sounded right. The boy gave himself completely to the other, who hugged him tigh
1. Chapter 1

**WHAT GOES TOGETHER BETTER THAN COLD AND DARK? - PART 1**

Jack took a run up to the cliff and he was about to throw the casket containing his teeth in the ocean, but in the end his will failed, and he held it up tightly in his hand. Despite all the misfortunes it caused him, he couldn't get rid of it. He would not, he could not throw the only thing that could reveal his past away and that could bring a new light to his future; the only thing that could clear up his task, who Jack Frost was and why he was there.

He grumbled exasperated, frowning). He was trying to think about what he could do, when a deep voice interrupted the flow of his thoughts.

«I thought this might happen. They never really believed in you. I was trying to show you that, but I understand...».

Furious, the boy turned round, his expression distorted in anger, and he attacked the enemy in front of him with an icy beam, shouting:« You don't understand anything!».

Pitch protected himself by creating a shield of black sand and he counter-attacked: blacks tentacles of fog came out of his hands, stretching out to reach Frost, while he imperiously replied: «I do know what it means to be cast out!».

Taking advantage of the wind at his command, the guy leapt over the enemy and growling he delivered a blow against him: the impact hurled him back, and he landed on the ground in a slight drizzle of ice crystals and darkness. He tried to spot the Boogeyman, bewildered by the confused view, and he glimpsed him getting closer from behind.

«To not be believed in! To long for a family...» said Pitch, his voice cracking with sadness, and his expression shattered by the pain that caused Jack's eyes to widen and lowering the stick.

«All these years in the shadows I thought: "No one else knows how this feels like"... but now I see I was wrong» continued the man, slowly approaching him;«We don't have to be alone, Jack. I believe in you, and I know children will, too».

«In me?» the boy asked in disbelief.

«Yes! Look at what we can do» the Boogeyman said, showing the impressive and jugged sculpture of ice and black sand that they had created during the fight. «What goes together better than cold and dark? We can make them believe, we'll give them a world where everything, everything is...».

«Pitch Black?» Jack said.

«... and Jack Frost, too» he quickly completed, «They will believe in both of us».

«No, they'll fear both of us, and that's not what I want» the boy replied, and he concluded: «Now for the last time: leave me alone».

Without waiting for an answer he turned away with a light step, trying to look indifferent, but the whirlwind of emotions that shook his nerves was so overflowing that it couldn't be restrained. After a few yards he stopped, running his left hand over his eyes, and tried with all his might to reflect, picking up the train of thoughts that had been interrupted by the man. In vain, of course. The more he tried to think about all the mistakes he did - the disappointments given to the Easter Bunny, how helpless he felt when he lost Sandman, the disorientation in not knowing why he existed, with not a single reason about why he existed, nor a path that led to an improvement of the situation - the more he focused on a Pitch bent under the weight of his suffering, his voice cracking with grief while he explained that he had always felt lost. Like him. Was it possible that they were so similar? Two kindred spirits? The Boogeyman looked so cruel, so wicked, willing to use any trick to see even one child crying because of him... and yet the expression on his face as he showed his feelings couldn't have been more human. Was he telling the truth? Could he have feelings so complex and apparently conflicted with the pure evil that he represented?

Sank deep in these thoughts Jack almost didn't notice that Pitch had reached him: it was so natural to glimpse the man kneeling behind himself, absently accepting the contact of his arm around the waist and his hand leaning on his shoulder, and the words used to invite him to stop lingering on his pain sounded right. The boy gave himself completely to the other, who hugged him tightly, pressed to his back; he felt thin coils of magic sand crawling along the chest, and yet he didn't fight: it was the next thing to a cuddle he had ever received in all his long life.

When The Boogeyman perceived Frost relaxing against him he became more bolder: he let the tentacles of darkness stretching, twisting around the neck of the guy until they reached his jaw; with his right hand he lightly touched (the hollow spaces along his collarbone, while he slid the left hand under the blue hoodie to stroke his hip so skinny; and it was a natural consequence that the man bowed his face between the space of his shoulder and his neck, laying there light kisses.

Jack winced at the contact, amazed by the gentleness with which the other was treating him, and he instinctively tensed; immediately the man stopped, forcing him to turn his face. He stared straight into his eyes and whispered: «I told you, Jack: we don't have to be alone».

Frost struggled to hear those simple words, because 'he had inevitably started to fall under the spell of that wonderful gaze: open, deep, pure in his golden color of the irises and yet so mysterious in the dark flames that burned even (niente 'even') there, as if the whole figure of the Boogeyman should be permeated by them. He stood still when he inched closer, and blushed when his lips pressed to their own. What was that gesture? Was what humans called... a kiss? He had never given nor received one, he didn't even know how to do it, but he understood that it made him feel good and whole as never before. It was easy, for him, to close his eyes and let himself go.

Pitch's tongue stroked his lips, lascivious , making them open up, and got sliding into his drew Jack's tongue in a silent and sensual dance, eliciting stealing from Jack a soft sigh. As the boy learned to respond and let the embarrassment faded away, the man deepened the contact, wrapping him in a hug, making the kiss less and less chaste and sweet, drawing endless arabesques on his body with his skinny fingers and the black sand.

Jack felt completely overwhelmed by those feelings so alien, and so strange considering the creature who was making him feel that way. An unknown warmth burst in his lower abdomen; his legs buckled and he flushed bright red for the first time since he was born. Setting aside any reserve he threw his arms around the man's neck, sinking his fingers in those silky hair, uncovering an inch of skin on the belly and implicitly giving the other the permission to take advantage of it: and the Boogeyman didn't need to be told twice, and he slid his palms under the hoodie, covering every inch of that white skin and sending dark tentacles to amplify the pleasure.

A groan escaped from Frost's lips because of the intimacy of that contact, the signal of its total surrender: warm chills crawled on his back, rising from the stomach to the neck, and he could not hear anything except for Pitch: his soft mouth, his silky hands, his sand like velvet on his skin were everything for him at that moment: he couldn't feel anything else, nor the icy ground beneath his feet, nor his body, nor the staff in his hands... the staff… the staff!

In a sudden flash of fear he opened his eyes, trying to slip out of the man's grip, and he swept around in search of the object that had accompanied him throughout his life. He spotted it immediately, abandoned at his feet: and that was the last time he saw it intact.

With an evil smirk the Boogeyman broke it under his knee, splitting it in two and scattering small shatters around; simultaneously Jack felt a stabbing pain in his chest, as if his heart had been ripped out. He slid to the ground, unable to stand on his own.

Quickly Pitch hastened to support him, grabbing him by the shoulders, and with a soft voice he whispered: «Oh Jack, I'm sorry, I am really sorry: I would not have wanted to go that far, but you've got this bad habit of interfering... I can't let you destroy my plans».

Hearing those word the boy pulled himself together, overwhelmed by his own anger: with his last energy he raised his head and threw himself at the opponent, trying to grab him by the collar. A flash of fear crossed the mesmeric eyes of the Boogeyman, who didn't expect a reaction, but with a swift swerve he managed to avoid him, and he attacked him with the magic sand.

Jack, defenseless, felt himself lifted upwards and crashed into an ice barrier behind him; powerless and stunned by the blow he fell into the precipice below, repeatedly bumping into the walls and injuring himself even more. However, when he was a few inches from the imminent impact on the ground, two strong and warm arms grabbed him, holding him almost lovingly, and slowly settled him on the ground. Awakened by the soft warmth that enveloped him, Jack opened his eyes, and what he saw, in spite of the weakness that had flooded his limbs, surprised him.

Pitch was knelt beside him, bent on his face: with his right arm he was supporting him behind by his back and neck, while with his left hand, he was lasciviously stroking his jaw; with the black sand he had wrapped his legs in a delicate hold and not possessive at all, circumfusing him with a dark aura in eternal movement in the vain attempt of warming up those limbs always frozen; and his look… his look so iridescent and mysterious was full of concern.

However, as soon as the Boogeyman saw him recovering, he shook his head, wiping away that look so human, and coaxingly whispered: «Jack, Jack, be a good boy, do not force me to be naughty with you...».

The boy coughed and started to push aside the hand that was still brushing his cheek, but as soon as he felt the man's silky skin under his fingertips, every ounce of his will and his hatred caused for what he did to his staff and the anger of being defeated deserted him. He strengthen the grip and took him closer, to feel the whole palm of that hand so big and so skinny pressed to his frozen skin.

The Boogeyman smiled maliciously, and said: «Oh Jack, you don't know how much I would like to stay here with you, but I have to win my war...»; a mist of sadness lowered on his golden eyes, and his face went even closer to him: «But I promise you, Jack: when everything will finish I will come back to you».

As to seal that promise, he took his lips once again, caressing his Jack's tongue with his own, stroking his neck with his slender fingers until he stole from him a low moan, the sign of his total submission. When he heard that sound Pitch smiled, and dissolved himself into a solid fog; he lingered a few moments near the boy's face, tickling his ear, and whispered: «Wait for me, Jack».

Then he disappeared in a violent stream which dashed against the wall of the precipice, disappearing in an unknown place in the world.

Frost pulled himself together hearing those four words, as simple as full of meaning and promise, expectation and lust. When he couldn't feel his presence any more, he shivered and huddled on himself, clutching his arms to his lean body: in his long life he had never felt as cold as in this moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**WHAT GOES TOGETHER BETTER THAN COLD AND DARK? - PART 2**

Jack was sitting on a bare branch with his legs hanging from the tree and thoughtfully sweeping with his eyes the landscape: a small village in the countryside, sleeping under a full moon that lit the snow-covered rooves, so small in the distance they looked gingerbread and icing decorations like the ones the children are used to do for Christmas Eve. After all Christmas was few days away, he knew it very well: Frost was thrown out of the Palace of North exactly for that, because the preparations were in full swing and his permanent and insolent curiosity slowed the yetis in their incessant work. And children could not absolutely be denied another new beautiful Christmas, especially after the risks due to Pitch's attack and the efforts made to defeat him.

In the end the Guardians won thanks to Tooth, the only one who had understood, in the big drama of the Boogeyman's threat, the little drama of Jack, who could not find a place for himself in the world. Bravely, although she had been weakened, she had looked for him: she had borrowed a snowglobe from Santa and whispered the name of Frost before throwing it in front of herself. When she had reached the wasteland of the South Pole and found his staff shattered, she had feared the worst. Wild, she had looked for him and at last she found him curled up in the bottom of the cleft: she had went down to him, comforted him and made him pull out of his pocket the casket of the teeth. Using her power, she had helped him to remember his past and so given him a task for the future; and after this new infusion of will, Jack had found the strength to stand up and fight again.

However, the victory had left a sour taste in the boy's mouth: he would never, ever forget in his life the incredulous expression of Pitch when the children had stopped believing in him, ceasing to see him and even walking through him as they played; and most of all, he would never forget his eyes wide open with sheer terror when the Pureblood Nightmares had dragged him in his lair.

Jack knew he had done the right thing, that day, when he defeated him: the other Guardians had praised him and celebrated the victory, and they had even officially appointed him as one of them. Yet, a shade of sadness had clouded the happiness of the moment, a shade which smacked of betrayal.

While he was thinking about it for the umpteenth time, as always unable to solve the problem, Frost saw a movement in front of him: a shadow, darker than the night, was moving silently, wandering sinuously among the houses, and then it disappeared into a gloomy window. Without further ado, the boy acted: he jumped down from the branch where he had perched, and relying on the icy wind he flew over the village, landing in a bare courtyard.

Peering into the darkness he saw exactly what he expected: Pitch, sitting on a barrel, had his back on him and was carefully modeling some magic sand with his skinny fingers.

Jack could perfectly imagine the sneer on his face: a wicked smile which showed his sharp teeth, and a look of malicious pleasure in knowing he was making someone suffer.

Immediately the boy wielded his trusty staff and threw a cold beam in the direction of the enemy. The Boogeyman was hit fully and thrown against the wall of the house next door, then flung on the ground, where he laid motionless as an inanimate puppet. He barely moved an arm and leaned on his elbow, his head still bowed; at last, almost trembling, he managed to raise his eyes and stare at Jack, and he simply asked: «Why?».

Frost was literally petrified: the man's voice was weak and uncertain, cracked with pain, and his eyes - those beautiful eyes - were filled with sadness and dreadful suffering, and made up to show a look so tired to seem resigned. Pitch Black had changed so much that Frost couldn't believe it: the lively, evil and cunning man had turned into an exhausted, apathetic creature, lacking in will to do anything. The worst thing was that he seemed to have lost not only the desire to frighten and conquer the world, but even to live.

Trying to stay focused and detached, the boy harshly replied: «You were harassing another child, weren't you?».

«Oh Jack, was this the only reason?» said Pitch, raising a hand to him while still lying on the ground. Frost raised his staff to threaten him, but soon he realized that the other was not going to attack him; from the window of the house behind him it came out a little Nightmare: galloping in the night he docilely landed on the palm of the Boogeyman, who hastened to clench his fist, reducing it to dust in his fingers.

«You just needed to ask, Jack...» he said, leaning with much effort on his elbows and knees and then standing against the wall beside him, sighing.

Stunned, Frost dared to ask: «Pitch, what... what happened to you?».

«Are you asking what happened to me?» he answered the other, sarcastic and disenchanted, «Do you want to know why I called back the Nightmare? Why don't I show interest in terrorizing children? What difference would it make, can you tell me? The more I work and the more my efforts seem useless: the best I can get is a night of screams, but in the morning comes the sun, the wonderful sun that takes away all the darkness and fear! You know what it means to do everything to make people believe in you and not even be seen! Do you know what it feels like when a person ignores you so much to run through you!». The tone of his voice increased as the speech went on, but his tired expression had not changed, looking like the frustration was so great to leave him with no hope.

«Pitch, I...».

«You what, Jack?» asked Pitch, more resigned than resentful, «You got what you wanted, Jack: you have kids who believe in you, and who whisper your name in the cold winter nights and when the school is closed for snow, you're even a Guardian, what do you want more? But I have nothing, I reverted to what I was before, a shadow that lurks under the beds».

«Pitch, I'm sorry, I would...» whispered Jack.

«What do you want, Jack? Go away, go and have fun with your new friends, or snowball, I do not care. I want to be alone» the man rounded off, turning his back to the boy, covering his face and making a gesture to drive him away.

Frost could not help but being upset by that gesture, but he immediately walked after the other, determined to try, if not alleviate, at least to understand the excruciating pain.

However, as soon as he moved his right foot, he saw the Boogeyman disappearing into a stream of sparkling black sand with an angry snarl and quickly fly away from the courtyard; the boy though about what to do next for a moment before summoning the cold northern wind.


	3. Chapter 3

I have two good news and an important warning! The warning is... do not suppose how this fanfiction is going on by reading a chapter. Pitch never acts in a foseseeable way, NEVER. ;)**  
**The good news: first of all, the next week (or the week after) I'll finish my exams and I will be able to update more frequently! I'm sorry I couldn't until now, but you have to consider that translating takes a lot of time and I hadn't a lot of free time. The second good new is that I found a really kind girl who correct my english chapter, so you should find no mistakes in them! She corrected also chapter 1 and 2 ^^

**WHAT GOES TOGETHER BETTER THAN COLD AND DARK? - PART 3**

Even though the winds Jack had summoned were undeniably fast he couldn't gain upon. He first flew high in the sky, then he skimmed over the ground, he moved forward on soils bare or cluttered with obstacles which he constantly had to dodge, but even if he used all his skill and good will he couldn't reach Pitch. On the contrary the Boogeyman did not seem to encounter the slightest difficulty in escaping, proceeding with lithe movements in every hole or narrow passage interjected between himself and his destination.

In few wild minutes full of fluster the two guys reached a small town, and there the man disappeared, slipping down a manhole cover; in a clumsy attempt to follow him, Frost kneed a curb and rolled up in the middle of the street.

More confused than bruised the boy stood up and tried with all his might to lift the manhole cover, but in vain; while he was pulling he heard some voices in the distance and he hid behind a car: after all having kids who believed in him had also a negative side.

He was thinking about how to solve the problem when it came to his mind when, months before, he had penetrated into the lair of Pitch, attracted by the voice of his sister; he immediately remembered the secret entrance he had used, and without hesitating, he ran there, out of breath.

Once he had lowered himself into the hole in the forest he went along the damp corridor which led him into the core of the Boogeyman's lair, and a gloomy landscape appeared in front of him: a large stone hall, full of dark and remote corners, adorned with stairs and corridors without rhyme or reason, made even less cosy by the icy draughts that blew from every crack, clinking the chains hanging from the ceiling. This, of course, didn't bother Jack; the cave was exactly as he remembered it, and in his memory it was well impressed the absurd feeling of being in his environment, a feeling that he had felt the first and the only time he had been there. The only thing to be different was the globe which stood in the middle of the hall: made of dark metal, it was adorned with thousands of twinkling lights, one for each child who believed in the five Guardians; every light was strong and firm, and it sounded a discordant note in a place so sad.

Jack stood in front of the globe, fascinated like a child in front of a huge Christmas tree, but when he thought about how painful was that view for Pitch he pulled himself together and started to search him.

Finding him was not an easy task: the layout of the cave was deliberately disorienting and the Boogeyman was good at hiding, but Frost was too tenacious and persevering to give up. Cautiously going along a corridor with a sharp bend, the boy reached a secluded room and he finally saw the man: he was sitting on a simple bed, consisting of a worn mattress resting on a large platform of stone jutting from the wall and a blanket so torn to seem colourless, and he held his head in his hands. He didn't turn when she saw him come in, but he merely remarked: «You've followed me even here».

«Yes» Jack said; he approached him and continued hesitantly: «Pitch, I...».

«You what, Jack? You've come here to enjoy the show of my defeat? I never thought you'd the kind of person who wallows in someone else's grief».

Frost froze, unsure, and he finally started to think about why he had followed him there. Why? Why did he crave for the company of the man who had mischievously tried to destroy him, and who probably wanted to hurt him even in that moment? Surely he was not there to rage on his defeat. Maybe had he given in to his usual impertinent curiosity? Had he wanted to know what happened to his enemy? No, neither that, actually. To tell the truth he was there because he desired to meet Pitch: talking to him, listening to him, comforting him, keeping his company... touching him, caressing his silky skin, being courted again by his voluptuous sand, because never, ever before he had felt so good, and so whole. Not even when he had finally discovered his past he had felt an emotion so strong, and mindful of the terrible loneliness felt in Antarctica when the Boogeyman had left him, he was determined not to let happen such a thing again. He did not know how, but he would have never allow the man to leave. He was aware he was pulling a stunt by giving so much confidence to a creature so mischievous, but he was sure they were two kindred spirits, and this certainty was more than enough for him to compensate the danger.

On that account Jack left his staff against the wall opposite the bed, he stepped forward, setting aside all doubts; he got in front of the man, he gently took his sharp face in his hands, as if he was afraid of him getting hurt, and the induced him to raise his golden and black irises, wide open in an amazed and suspicious expression. As soon as he saw them he let himself drown in their sublime beauty, sinking in that blaze of iridescent shades; without even realizing it he started to caress his face light as a feather, and he finally said: «No, Pitch, I came here because you were right: we don't have to be alone».

Naturally Frost bent on the other, placing a gentle kiss on his mouth, and, with the patience of a lover, when he understood Pitch was feeling awkward, he sat astride on his lap, letting him taking his time.

Pitch didn't take long to react: at first he sought his lips again, hesitantly, as if he was afraid of bothering him, but as soon as he felt the boy's cold skin under his own, he could not help himself and pressed a hand on his nape to deepen the contact. Eager to shorten the distance, he slid his tongue into Jack's mouth, drawing his own in a passionate kiss in which he conveyed the urgencies to feel the boy bound up with him, and he slipped the arms behind his back, holding him in a tight and possessive hug, from which the Guardian wouldn't be able to get free, even if he wanted to. And Frost was definitely sure he did not want to, not after he had finally recaptured the sensation of being at home and being loved, or rather, desired by someone. Like the first time he threw his arms around the man's neck, uncovering an inch of skin on his waist, but, unlike the first time, the Boogeyman did not just take advantage of this implicit bait by driving tentacles of black sand to touch him: with decision he grabbed the sweatshirt and lifted it, hastily taking it off together with the vest and careless throwing them on the ground, breaking the kiss only for those endless moments while the fabric denied him the contact with the other. As soon as he could, he lasciviously regained Jack's lips, so he slowly rubbed open palms on his back, and where he couldn't reach he sent coils of dark and sparkling mist, as if he wanted to make every inch of the boy's skin his.

Frost sighed heavily to those caresses, so lustful as possessive, and let the magic sand which had reached his neck enveloped him, unable to decide what, between the silky and feather-like coils of darkness and Pitch's tapering and expert hands, was giving him greater pleasure. He passionately intertwined his fingers through the man's hair and he started a slow descent in order to accompany the shivers which was shaking the Boogeyman: he slowly drew the outline of his ears; he spread them out when he reached the neck, in order to follow every nerve; and finally he brought them together again, making them sink along the plunging neckline of man, feeling his skin as soft as velvet under his fingertips.

When he was a few inches from the waist he felt a low vibration, then he was firmly grabbed by the hips and pushed with little grace and great passion on the bed; trapped under the other he underwent his aggressive and breathtaking kiss, his magic sand touching almost heedless the most sensitive spots of his body, his light weight pressing him and giving him a sublime sense of suffocation. It was manifest by then Pitch liked ruling, and Jack didn't try even for a moment to deny to himself he enjoyed the feel of being led and dominated by him.

The boy took a deep breath when he felt him leaving his mouth, but he soon turned it into a languid sigh when he felt his lips grab his lobe and sucking it; with a shudder he sensed his wet tongue running down his jugular from the jaw to the chest, and then lingering on the hollow spaces of his collarbones. Blacks tentacles courted his body, drawing endless and meaningless arabesques and warming again, inexplicably, his lower abdomen, and the Boogeyman's hands were not less: the left one, fixed to support the man, tickled that little sensitive point behind Frost's ear, while the right one, free, wandered on his chest. Using only the tips of his fingertips Pitch absently followed a spiral around the his navel, and then, as if he had suddenly chosen the path to take, he strongly clutched his hip: mimicking the gesture of scratching he went along the outer line of his thigh to the knee, then opened his palm, caressing the inside to reach the groin.

When Jack was touched so intimately he gave a start for pleasure and wonder: he groaned loudly, opening his eyes but not seeing anything in front of him and turning his head; he hunched his back like a wild horse, pressing his chest against the man's and clinging to his shoulders, with such a strength and a rapture to give the impression of wanting to merge with him; and finally, with shameful astonishment, he rubbed his pelvis against the hand which had caressed him, seeking for satisfaction to an unknown desire. Frost didn't know what love and sex were, he had never experienced them: no one, in his three centuries long life, had ever bothered to talk to him, explaining what physical attraction was, setting out what a person could do to give pleasure to another. All he had done up to that moment had resulted from his instinct or had been the imitation of his partner's gestures, and because of his ignorance Jack kept all his innocence in approaching the pleasures of the flesh, and didn't considered giving himself to a man, furthermore an enemy: every movement and thought he had were as voluntary as innocent, and he would never have had second thoughts about them.

Perfectly aware of that, he let himself go, completely giving himself to the man: he languidly opened his legs, in order to leave space to his lover, and he let out a liberating groan when he felt his fingers undo his trousers that held his growing erection; afraid to scratch him too hard Jack moved his hands from Pitch's back to the bed, clawing the sheets more and more frantically to every lewd caress he received and closing his eyes, and he followed the hot chills arching his bony shoulders. Trembling he felt the coils of sand founding under him to tickle his back's skin, from the waist to the shoulders, and he surrendered to the pleasure the Boogeyman was giving him: among the soft sighs he hoarsely whispered his name, as an invocation.

«Pitch...» he sensually murmured, in a call is as simple as lustful, in a total abandonment to the will of the other, in an unconditional surrender manifested by diffuse redness on his cheeks, by his dull and dreamy eyes, but especially by the pose as natural as indecent of his body, almost unaware in his innocence to be so seductive.

An answer reached the boy's ears, uttered with a deep and calm tone: «Jack..».

The call seemed to come from everywhere, like the time when the Boogeyman had decoyed him in his lair; after few seconds Frost continued to feel his intimate caresses, but he realized he couldn't feel the light weight of the other on himself, and he tried to move his hands to reach him.

Sand. He felt only silky and shiny sand flowing among his fingers. With growing awareness he heard the Pitch's voice coming on his left, from the other side of the room: the man was standing and watched him with treacherous eyes, his back against the wall, his head slightly bowed, indecently revealing the neckline of the robe as to provoke Jack even more.

«Jack, oh, Jack, you're old but you've never grown up: we should learn from our mistakes, didn't you know that? You should have waited me there, huddled on the bottom of the precipice, because now the time of my victory has come!».

Frost widened his eyes and stretched out his arm toward the other in a vain attempt to stop him, but Pitch, with a grin of pure evil, clenched his hands on the stick.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm sorry I'm late, I had a lot of work to do in this period... but now I'm free! I'll continue to translate, this week I'll probably translate chapter 5 and 6, maybe more ^^ I'll give you some news in the next translation!

**WHAT GOES TOGETHER BETTEN THAN COLD AND DARK – PART 4**

With a satisfied sneer Pitch clutched the staff in his hands, blatantly lifting it in front of Jack, and he immediately screamed.

A shocking and frantic cry burst from the bottom of his throat, echoing among the stone walls of the room, so high with despair. He had never, ever in his life felt a pain so excruciating, so absolute: it seemed he was clutching in his palms two hedgehogs on fire.

He fell on the ground, writhing, and he stared his hands, terrified: the fingers were completely covered with a thin layer of ice, the backs pitch black colour and the wrists of a black-and-blue mark which showed the first signs of a gangrene. Gritting his teeth, he appealed to his last shred of rational will he had and he hooked the curved top of the staff in an iron ring sticking on the wall: pulling with his arms and pushing a foot against the stones in order to break free, he managed to break away from the icy sceptre, tumbling to the floor. A broken moan escaped from his lips and he closed his eyes, in the attempt of pulling himself together, but, when he opened them, he wished to be blind.

His hands, his tapering and beautiful hands were reduced to two miserable scrawny stumps: the fingers, bent into claws, no longer reacting and they were gloved by a thin layer of frost, so inadequately perfect to look like a precious lace; the backs were tensed and cracked, rough as sandpaper; however, the worst part was undoubtedly the soft area between index and thumb: a gash, opened during the mad and desperate jerks to break free, tore the flesh, so deeply that it showed the articulation. Dark and thick blood gushed from the wounds, dripping on the ground, collecting in a gruesome puddle under his incredulous eyes, and the man stared at it: he had reacted quickly to the power of the staff, but he wasn't fast enough to prevent the cold from freezing his limbs, and these, irreparably weakened, had been able only to buckle and break up.

A movement on his right side startled him, causing him to turn around: Jack, already free from the sand which Pitch had lost control over since he had started screaming, got off the bed and approached him, walking slowly and with a hint of uncertainty. Stumbling in the long robe the Boogeyman stepped back, crawling and dragging, pushing down on his elbows and knees in order not to torture further his wounded hands; when he hit the wall he pressed himself against it and lifted his arms in a cross to defend himself, too shocked to even try to stand up, his eyes opened wide like he was a hunted prey.

Frost joined him and leaned toward him, with tears in his eyes, then he whispered: «Oh, Pitch, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry: I did not want this happening. I tried to stop you, but you didn't listened to me».

In the lack of dignity, the Boogeyman regained a least of boldness and he yelled: «What are you talking about? You planned this from the beginning, didn't you? You wanted to deceive me! How the hell did you manage to activate the stick if you didn't touched it?».

«No, I never wanted this: let me fix that» said the boy with a worried voice.

Immediately he stretched his arms toward the other and the man instinctively twitched: unable to protect himself in any other way he turned his face on a side and he raised his hands, but Jack simply took them in a firm but gentle grip. He thoughtfully ran his fingertips over his skin injured, from the broken nails to the wrists, touching it lightly in order not to make him suffer more, and he continued to cuddle him, caressing his sharp fingers.

Too amazed by his snuggles and unable to explain why he was treating him with such sweetness after being cruelly deceived, Pitch underwent, but he couldn't find the courage to turn around and look: on the contrary he closed his eyes and he feebly moved his fingers in contact with Frost.

Under his light touch he felt his skin loosening and lighting of fire as tenuous as wrong. How, how could such a heat come from a creature of ice? How could the man have tensed muscles already dead? With great amazement the Boogeyman opened his eyes and stared his hands, shocked: the veil of frost had gone, recalled by the boy's power, and the skin had regained its natural grey colour, no longer interrupted by the rough cracks; opening his mouth in disbelief he saw his joints recovering their mobility gradually the livid blue disappeared, and his breath stopped when he realized that Jack was about to direct his attention to the two deep wounds.

The man never saw him reach them: as soon as Frost was just few millimeters far from them, every perception was cancelled, and the only beautiful thing that he could get was his own flesh coming back to life. He opened his eyes widened, but he couldn't focus anything: he felt something warm trickling on the cuts, giving back sensitivity to his nerves, and it seemed to him that every fibre of the muscles shook and stretched, twisting until it reached the broken twin and finally welding back with it.

A warm shiver crossed his forearms, going down weakly to the thighs and then back, voluptuousness brushing his groin, spreading to the neck, and Pitch could only follow it, arching his back to the breaking point as the wall behind him permitted it, exposing with unwitting indecency his chest and neck. He turned his face upward, staring at a ceiling he couldn't see, and, finally, without realizing it, without even being able to think about stop it, he bursted into a sensual moan: at first deep and so low that it couldn't be heard, almost just a vibration of his chest, it turned slowly, taking shape and volume, flowing more and more complete from his vocal cords, up to the acute culmination at the limits of the obscenity.

He remained tense in that position a few seconds, shaken, still crossed by that indescribable thrill, then the muscles gave up and he had to lean against the wall, though not changing his pose licentiously improper. Gasping, he ran his tongue over his lips and slowly raised his eyes to Jack, just to address him a lascivious look, his eyes blurred with excitement and full of lusty promises, as though he had just had an orgasm. He slowly drowned in the irises of Jack, of a sapphire blue so intense to hurt him, adorned with clearer fine specks like the wintry puddles of ice crystals, and it seemed to him that there was nothing else in the world: he could only sink inexorably into those two mirrors of purest water, crystalline and cold as a high-altitude lake at the foot of a glacier.

After a while a thoughtful voice made him gradually emerge: «Pitch... Pitch! Are you okay? I recalled the ice. Are your hands still hurting?».

The man answered with a strained and incomprehensible smile, watching him from the bottom up; the boy seemed reassured and continued in a serious voice: «Pitch, I didn't want to hurt you before, I swear, but you must never try to steal my staff. I'm not afraid of you anymore, Pitch, and you can't take by force what I don't want to spontaneously give you».

Pitch hoarsely replied: «Really, Jack?».

"Do you really think you have no fear at all? Do you think you have erased forever this emotion? You can not defeat fear, Jack, not forever. But, above all, do you really think that I can't have you? That I can't take by force? Challenge accepted, Jack» he thought, not talking aloud. His mind was still clouded because of the experience he just had had, the ideas didn't express themselves in a clear and fully understandable way, but a clear irrepressible instinct had emerged from his chest: he wanted and had to make him his. No matter how many sweet-talks, threats, promises or intimidations would have been necessary: sooner or later he would have bent and destroyed him, and in the day he would have seen the defeat in those crystalline eyes he would have been certain he had won.

Frost frowned at the sound of those two simple words, probably disappointed in front of his stubborness; seeing him moving he stepped backward, to leave him space and allow him to stand up, but a surprised look came over his face when he saw how the other was behaving.

Pitch, in fact, didn't used the space allowed to him to pull himself up: he slowly leaned his back forward, from the pelvis, vertebra by vertebra, in a calm and lithe arching, offering the neckline and neck; when the shiver reached his shoulder, he left them dangling and, immediately after them, also the head, supporting himself on his bent arms and exposing his nape. With no hurry he lifted up the front, until his irises were partially visible to Jack, and he stared at him with a languid and possessive expression, grinning with satisfaction.

With feline movements he stretched out the right arm in front of him and he walked towards the boy, crawling slowly and loading every act of desire: the manly darting of his back muscles, the lithe swaying of the shoulders and pelvis, the pinned strength, the predator gaze, everything about him cried out for danger and lust. He looked like a panther: black, strong, with yellow eyes, he blocked his prey on site with the magic of his irises, so obviously treacherous, yet so inevitably irresistible, just as Pitch and only Pitch could be. The Boogeyman had always been well aware of how his body and his wickedness could be cruel temptations for the other creatures, and he had always been able to make the most of them: he was sure that that method would have never make him fail.

With great satisfaction he saw Frost stepping back, puzzled, then stopping, enchanted by the scene, unable to look away. Resolute the man went on toward his destination, until he was able to touch, with the tip of his fingers, the left shin of the boy; he lingered on his leg, follow it up and down with his fingertips, brushing it absent-mindedly, and then, with a whimsical lunge, he clawed the lace that held his trousers on his calves and he tore it, running his tongue over his lips in an indecent allusion; enervating calmly he reached out his left arm to the other thigh, caressing it, and again, without any warning, he broke the tape, twin of the first.

At this second and abrupt action Jack, until then mesmerized by the man, lost his balance and stumbled back: with a fast leap Pitch jumped up and grabbed him by the neck, holding him possessively to himself, to keep him from falling. He stared at him from above, cheeky, enjoying seeing the bewilderment in his eyes; in a transport of control he tightened the grip of his the fingers, until he felt every beat of his heart gone crazy, and forcing him to open his mouth, in search of oxygen, and he didn't granted it to him: it was too cruelly satisfying seeing him trying to gasp for breath, leaning on his chest, dominated by his shape.

A wicked smile bore spontaneously on his face, another temptress threat to break up the boy, and he thought: "The challenge has begun, Jack. And you've already lost".


	5. Chapter 5

**WHAT GOES TOGETHER BETTER THAN COLD AND DARK – PART 5**

"The challenge has begun, Jack, and you've already lost".

This treacherous and magnificent thought gave Pitch a heady sense of omnipotence and he showed his sharp teeth in a smile of priceless satisfaction. He almost regretted being so rude, clutching Jack's thin neck with his fingers, and he immediately freed him, finally allowing him to breathe.

He backed up to leave him more space, staring at him with a clear and relaxed gaze, his arms at his sides, his head slightly bowed as if to demurely show a belated repentance. After all, there was no reason to act so cruelly with Frost: he seemed easy to enchant and a brutal aggression would have induced him to react, not to be afraid of him. There was no need to be cruel, of course: but he wouldn't miss the opportunity to do so.

Absently the Boogeyman stretched out his right leg behind the left of the boy and, unfairly laughing, he tripped him, making him fall on the edge of the bed. Jack, in response, backed up, pushing down on his elbows and feet on the mattress, but he didn't try to escape and he, indeed, turned his expression into one absolutely incomprehensible for the man.

Pitch, indifferent, didn't give too much importance to it: it wasn't the right time to be in wonder if the other, naively, played along and facilitated his task. It didn't matter why the boy remained voluntarily in his clutches, and, indeed, he almost seemed to invite him to take advantage of him: the only thing the Boogeyman had to worry about was achieving his goal and reaching it as quickly and satisfactorily as possible.

That was the reason why he had no doubts when he saw Frost, nor when he put his knee on the blankets and he rushed at him: for him the only thing which counted was winning. Without any kindness he pressed the open palm on his sternum, forcing him to lie down at all, and he bent down to torture his chest with his lips. Very slowly he began to went up again, brushing his collarbones and then his shoulders, while his fingers silently slid around his thin neck, again, helplessly responding to the irresistible lure of that part of the body so attractive and fragile: however, this time he didn't hold it tightly, but he just pinned him against the bed, preventing him from rising up. Slowly he followed the line of his jaw, finally reaching the mouth, and there he stopped within a hair's breadth of it, making sure that they couldn't touch each other, but only stir their breaths together.

The Boogeyman shuddered when he realized how exciting was that position: standing above the boy, force him to stay beneath him and having him totally in his power, and yet denying him the contact, staying at a short but provocative distance, it was almost more enjoyable than kissing him.

After a while, however, he felt something warm and soft caressing his teeth and, opening his eyes, he saw a scene as unexpected as obscenely seductive. Jack was looking for him, craving him so ardently to reach out towards him, clinging to his shoulders and pushing against his hand, tyrant jailer, and, when he failed to reach him, he had finally stuck out his tongue and brushed it on his lips, in a final attempt to lure him to himself.

The man stood there a moment, too stunned by the audacity of the other to be able to react, but soon, with a wicked smile, he pulled himself together and reacted: with his tongue he drew its twin in a sensual dance, mastering the impetuous desire of the boy with lust, but he still didn't allow their mouths to touch themselves. That craved union, in fact, should have performed not in a tender kiss, but in a lustful exchange of avid caresses: once he had been gone, leaving him alone, Jack would have had to remember that time and how, with unforgivable weakness, he had been seduced, to the point to behave indecent and to be drawn in obscene games; he would have had to repent and be ashamed of how he had given himself, until he would have felt completely annihilated, and, at that point, he would have simply let everyone to forget him, isolating himself, and, as an empty vase, he would have been ready to be topped up, filled to the brim with fear and awe, in order to become the perfect weapon.

With a naughty bite Pitch ended the kiss and went down to his neck, while his hand slowly slid on the whole chest to his side, in a soft caress amplified by the coils of sand that he had called. For the umpteenth time he stopped to torment Frost's throat, so white and silky, inhaling the pure scent of snow it emanated: almost without realizing it he began to brush that little flap of skin just below the jaw, so soft and yielding, with his lips and teeth, and when he reluctantly went away, he saw that the skin had reddened, becoming almost purple.

Perfect, _sublime_. He had to cover Frost with bruises and hickeys, leaving them wherever he could, in order to declare him his, and he had to make sure they were as red and lasting as possible, so that they could last for days, indelible: every time Jack would have decided to freeze something he would have mirrored himself in the evoked ice and he should have remembered how he had been his, and how he would have been his again and again, until he would have been induced not to use his staff any more, in the attempt not to remind how he had been and would have been helpless. Pitch could already imagine him: nestling at the bottom of a ravine, his blue hood on his head to cover the eyes of hunted prey, his chest shaken by the weeping gasps of fear; then, a tentacle of dark and silent mist which crawled, curious, twisting around his ankle, and the final defeat: a scream of pure terror, full of endless despair, the last shred of rationality which burst into dust and his willingness clay in the hands of the Boogeyman. Definitely and wickedly wonderful as a conclusion, and as the beginning of a new era.

Lost in this fantasy the man realized he had started to gently cuddle the other, thoughtfully stroking his neck and his side, and he decided to immediately counterbalance: with unexpected rapidity he sank his teeth into the boy's jugular vein and he clawed a buttock, pushing him boldly against his pelvis and tightening the grip of the sand around his chest.

The broken gasp he heard was music to his ears: Jack really seemed to enjoy that courting, albeit tinged with a slight violence, and he rewarded him by moaning, trying to cling to him and to give him pleasure, too, eagerly arching under his expert touch. He was irresistible in his innocent lust, charming in the most perverse and wrong way in his naively playing with fire and awakening the panther that was the inner soul of Pitch, and he would have paid the consequences, all the way.

With a low growl the Boogeyman left the boy's neck to start a long and unbearably hesitant descent: inch by inch he marked with his teeth every point of that hyaline skin, following an imaginary line on the left of his sternum, moving a bit and then going back, in order to soothe the bites he had done with his soft lips and tongue, the bites he had done. His hands, in the meantime, climbed down, determined, touching Frost only with the fingertips to send him hot chills and wending towards his thigh, and, when they reached his knees, they reversed with a slow curve, lasciviously going along the sensitive inner part, until they cupped around his hard cock.

The jolt of Jack and the high-pitched whine he couldn't hold back confirmed to Pitch he was touching the right cords: slightly rearing his head to send his partner a mischievous smile he continued the caress, grabbing the two hems of his undone trousers in a gentle but firm grip. Languidly kissing the area around the navel he began to lower his trousers, deliberately lingering on his groin to steal a gasp, taking them off up to the knees, and, too eager not to break contact even for few seconds, he used the magic sand to remove them all, making it sliding along Frost's thin calves and ankles.

With open palms he rubbed again the inner part of his thighs, then he ventured to go down with his mouth, up to the point his erection pushed itself against his throat, and he couldn't hold back a low and vibrant sigh in feeling that swollen organ pressed against him, awakened by his caresses, pulsating only because he was near it, wanting to be touched and satisfied only by him.

Impatient the Boogeyman drew on the boy's leg, with his right forefinger, an elaborate doodle, reaching close to the protruding bone of his pelvis, and he absently started playing with the waistband of his pants, but a muffled sound caught his attention: raising his eyes he saw that Jack had turned his head to one side, biting his wrist to stifle an acute of pleasure and demurely hiding behind his contracted hand.

Oh, finally, finally he was showing the long-awaited shame! Pitch could not be more satisfied... or, maybe, he could. That embarrassment could be extended and magnified up till it would have swallowed the mind of Frost: he just had to torture him in the right way.

With a wicked grin the man straightened up, he abruptly grabbed with his left arm the forearm the partner was clutching among his teeth and he moved it over his head, pressing it in a grip of steel against the sheets and exposing his face.

He fully relished the shy withdrawal of the other and his eyes wide open when he felt the last faint barrier of cloth being lowered; shivering he hesitantly touched his cock, skin against skin, silk against silk, and he almost melted when he saw Jack voluptuously arching, opening his lips in a hot moan, closing his eyes to hide his liquid irises and the dilated pupils.

Trembling Pitch deepened the contact, caressing him more decisively, and he slowly bent on his chest to inhale his smell, still fresh, but, at that time, loaded with a new scent, warm and spicy, seductively intoxicating. He quietly moaned when he felt the boy's free hand insinuating into his neckline, stroking his hairless chest, boldly exposing him a shoulder and reaching his back: his touch was so gentle, so caring, so softly exciting, so... so wrong! No! He could not let him making him lose control! He had to make Frost his, not to be seduced by him.

Abruptly shaking his shoulder he pushed him away and he called up his robe, created not with common cloth, but made of pure darkness, so thick it could be woven, so black it absorbed every ray of light. With relief he felt Jack meekly withdrawing and simply stroking his neck, but he didn't realize the Guardian was far from giving up and being completely subdued.

While Pitch returned to his chest the other touched his nape with pretended nonchalance, then, naughtily biting his own lip, he grabbed the collar of his robe and, with a fluid motion, he pulled it down, freezing the cloth and tearing it in tiny shreds, exposing his back from the shoulders to the waist.

The Boogeyman felt the movement inch by inch, involuntarily arching his backbone to follow the cold shiver and, when it reached his tailbone, suddenly pressing his pelvis against his one, and, finally, he found himself panting, abandoned on the body of the boy, his eyes widened, trying to recover from that chill so sensual: the only parts of the garment which had endured were only the sleeves and a few other frayed shreds. He would have never expected such a boldness from Frost, he would have never imagined he could be so daring he could wrong-foot him, but, after all, this behaviour could play in his hands. Did Jack want him so bad he was disposed to dare so much? Did he desire him with such passion he wasn't afraid to show himself so eager and impetuous? Oh, if he insisted so much he would have reached what he wanted, without any doubt, but then he would have been drowned in guilt.

Softly laughing, the man let the shreds of his robe dissolving, stripping to the waist, but he kept covered the lower part of his body, still dressed up with his tight trousers; with a jolt he took possession of Frost's lips again, imposing himself in a lustful and avid kiss, not hesitating to bite his tongue when he became too active or too shy; with a silent order he called the magic sand and let it flowing over his skin in sinuous and silky ribbons which twirled around his thighs, his thin neck and forearms, touching his sensitive spots; finally, with mischievous slowness, he slid his right hand towards his groin.

The umpteenth moan of Jack, the umpteenth victory of Pitch. With languid cruelty the Boogeyman caressed him more firmly, breaking his breath, shaking his nerves deeply, until the boy put his free arm around his back, looking for a contact even more intimate and absolute, if it ever been possible.

«Oh, yes, Jack, cling to me, cling to me with all your strength: the more you ask for and the more you condemn yourself! My perdition, my body, my touch, _everything_ will be impressed in your memory, everything will make you feel soiled with the unforgivable sin of having sold out yourself, everything will make you be afraid of me, of the power I have over you... Cling to me, Jack! Cling to me and let me drag you in the abyss!"thought the man, unable to hold back the exaltation in feeling that the other, unconsciously, was behaving exactly like he wanted and he was ruining himself with his own hands.

Resolute the Boogeyman continued the sensual massage and, noticing that the boy could no longer follow him, he broke the kiss, taking the opportunity to watch him. An ecstatic vision stood out in front of his eyes: Frost had bowed his head, his eyes clouded, and he was languidly showing his flushed cheeks and his snowy neck still trapped in the tentacles of darkness which contrasted so much with it; his chest was sharply moving up and down, shaken by the irregular gasps he gave off, and his pelvis started to go along with the soft caresses he received with rhythmic thrusts.

The more Pitch touched him, the more Jack got lost, pushing himself against him, clinging to his back with so much passion he scratched it, turning his sighs from soft and whispered to more and more urgent. It was with a groan of sincere frustration that he reacted to the sudden pause of the man, came on time just before the orgasm, and it was with a moan of relief that he rewarded him, feeling him restart.

The Boogeyman enjoyed almost to madness seeing how the other reacted to his touch and melted in his hands, letting him moulding him like clay; instinctively tyrannical he continued to play with him, touching him until he felt the orgasm coming and stopping immediately before it, watching how his muscles contracted for the denied contact, and eventually, after few minutes of wicked provoking without giving, he felt him grabbing his right arm just below the elbow and he heard a voice hoarse and broken by the expectation crying.

«Ah! Pitch... please... I beg you...».

I beg you. _I beg you_. Two words so simple, yet so absolute. Jack, the innocent Jack was begging him! Of course even before, using the body language, he had made him understand what he wanted: those languid eyes, those legs obscenely opened, those hot moans, everything in him and in his oxymoronic luxurious purity was pleading him to satisfy him, to soil him like the snow on the side of the road. Those silent prayers, however, didn't count any longer: there could not be anything more perfect than hear him beg, nothing! That was the official point of no return. Before that Frost could have denied to himself he had desired him, he could have distorted his own memories, saying that, with his arm, he had not searched for him, but tried in vain to reject him; that plea, on the contrary, could not be erased: that plea would have been unforgettable in his mind, omnipresent reminder of his weakness in front of the Lord of Nightmares.

With a satisfied grin he contracted his wrist and he continued what he had interrupted; it didn't take long: after few languid caresses he felt the other's body tensing and his breath stopping, and he was sure he had won.

Pushing his chest against the man's one so hard he let him feel his heart become crazy the boy came in his hand, biting in vain his own lip to hold back a liberating and satisfied moan, which echoed in the room anyway; he stopped with his muscles contracted for few moments, shaken by the intense and overwhelming orgasm which had literally knocked him down; then, finally, he relaxed, lying on the sheets, motionless under the Boogeyman, his right arm still trapped above his head and his eyes closed, panting heavily.

A shudder shook Pitch when he realized he had been the witnessed and the maker of the first sexual pleasure of Jack - because it was the first in his whole life, he was sure of this since he had kissed him the first time on the headland in Antarctica. Having, at the same time, given and stolen him this experience excited him, the idea he could bring it up gave him an amazing sense of control, he felt he had the power in his right hand, instead of his first hot semen, and this was just a small overture to what he had planned to do in the future.

Satisfied he looked up, watching Frost trustfully abandoned under him, and, as the Boogeyman, he couldn't use the occasion to betray him.

With an unexpected twist he freed his wrist and he cruelly tightened his fingers around his neck; with a small tug he made him to open his lips, swollen with bites and kisses, asking for oxygen, even more necessary than usual at that time, and he forced him to look at him: he wanted to see the fear spreading in his eyes and laugh at it with contempt and superiority.

Unlike he expected he was not satisfied: Jack, in fact, smiled and looked at him with an incomprehensible expression. His irises were not like the ones of a frightened child, at all: they were addressing him a look that could be seen only in a mature and aware man, and they seemed to know something which the man was clueless about.

Pitch stared at him, dumbfounded, but he recovered almost immediately so as not to appear weak in front of the boy he wanted to master: assuming a wicked grin he tightened his grip, he got closer to Jack's face and he stuck out his tongue, lasciviously licking his reddened lips and mischievously insinuating it inside them in an indecent allusion; then, as suddenly as he had seized him, he freed him, springing up and staying between his legs.

Languid he let his eyes slid on his figure, from his irises to his thighs slightly opened, deliberately focusing on his relaxed cock half-hidden by his pants, assuming an avid expression to embarrass him, then, finally, with a sinuous movement, he got off the bed, recalling the darkness in his power to recreate the torn robe, and he left the room, walking away without looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

**WHAT GOES TOGETHER BETTER THAN COLD AND DARK? - PART 6**

"Damn!" thought Pitch, hidden in the shadows of the room, leaning against the stone wall. The look that Jack Frost had sent him just before he went away was absolutely incomprehensible: what, what could have gone wrong?

Half-closing his eyes the Boogeyman gritted his teeth and he kept himself from punching the wall: he could make himself invisible in the darkness, but certainly not inaudible in a movement so clumsy and brutal. Taking a deep breath he tried to simmer down: maybe it was just too soon, maybe it had to pass more time before the boy would get aware of what had happened, and before he would take in it, and he would feel shame, then fear, then terror. Actually there were several steps that should lead him to the final phase, and the man should have been happy to see Frost slowly going through them: the longer he would have let him seduce him, the deeper would have been the guilt once felt it.

Yes, it was exactly like that, there was no need to be caught up in anxiety: at the right time everything would have gone right. Meanwhile he could take advantage of the situation, play with Jack, enjoy initiating him into sex and watch him while he moaned for pleasure: a pastime really not bad, considering the shiver of excitement it had crossed him at the mere thought; of course, just in order to start, he could watch him recovering from his first sexual experience.

Taking a deep breath to calm down Pitch, finally, turned his face, directing his gaze to the bed: he slowly went up, with his irises, along the trousers of the other, twisted with the threadbare sheets and carelessly abandoned on the edge of the bed, about to fall to the ground; with a calm full of expectation he ran his gaze along the boy's snowy leg, lingering a little on his covered groin, almost stumbling in his protruding ribs, and, finally, sliding along the jugular vein and reaching his face. He could not help smiling in noticing that, by chance, Jack had just turned towards him: unconsciously he was exposing himself to him, his lips swollen with kisses half-opened in an instinctive attempt to catch a breath, his cheeks flushed slowly regaining their whiteness, his liquid eyes half closed and lost in a blurred world which, with no doubt, was the only thing they could capture at that time.

Frost hadn't moved since the Boogeyman had left the room, returning back few seconds after: visibly exhausted he had lain as he had been, his right arm bent above his head, his left one abandoned along his side, his legs still slightly opened, regardless of the questionable comfort of the position, or of its undeniable provocativeness. Whether he was aware of it or not, whether his lust was voluntary or innate his body was still badly begging to be soiled like the snow on the roadside, Pitch was certain about this. After all, how could he deny the fierce attraction he felt in watching him? How could he ever hide the painful constriction he felt around the groin, suffocated by his trousers too tight, the willing to seduce him again, the brutal desire to lie down on him and touch him again and again? However, that wasn't the right time: he had to be patient and not yield to temptation, contenting to get satisfied only with his eyes, and he did so, not holding back a grimace of painful frustration.

Taken with the figure in front of him he immediately noticed that, slowly, Jack was recovering: the colour of is skin was gradually getting back to the usual hyaline, his chest was moving up and down with more regularity, his eyelids finally lifted, revealing eyes still blurred. Holding his breath the man looked at him, watching him moving with faint moan, stretching his legs and then bending them and lifting his chest, leaning on his elbows; after a short pause all the boy changed his position with a fluid motion, sitting on the lateral side of the bed, his arms outstretched, his hands clinging to the edge of the mattress, his head dangling, slowly swinging his feet like a child, as he seemed to be at that time.

Leaning out he bent to retrieve his hoodie and shirt and Pitch, instinctively, moved back even more, fully flattening against the wall, shadow among shadows to avoid being discovered, too curious to go away. Motionless he watched the boy disentangling the messy pile of white and blue cloth which none of the two lovers, caught by passion, had bothered to separate, let alone to neatly fold; bewitched he followed his lean fingers lowering the clothes on his bony chest, slowly sliding on the blankets and freeing, not without some difficulty, the trousers from the sheet; finally, he watched him wearing them with a look of sadness, as if he repented that he had left the room, as if he wished they were his fingers, and not the other's ones, tightening them around his thin waist and tying the catch.

Stretching for the last time Jack stood up, stumbling a little, as if his legs had not recovered enough to support him; at a faltering pace he started to walk, but he immediately stopped, as he had suddenly realized something.

A slight panic grasped the Boogeyman's throat when he saw the other moving right towards the corner where he was hidden, but the boy came to a grinding halt few feet far from him, crouching on the floor.

Surprised, the man lowered his irises to know what Frost was looking for, and, when he spotted some torn strands, it took him a moment to remember that they were the remains of the laces that Frost used to put around his calves. He couldn't hold back a mischievous smile in recalling how he had ripped them up, bewitching their owner with the sensual spell of his gaze, and he couldn't help turning it into a wicked grin when he saw the partner diligently rummaging among the frayed laces, probably trying to recover something wearable.

With an irritable gesture Jack stood up, kicking the shreds to scatter them and clenched his fists, frowning, but, after a while, he calmed down and he burst into an amused laughter, not noisy or coarse, but natural and unobtrusive as the soft murmur of a crystalline and pure spring, like only the snow can be. Smiling, he shook his head and whispered: «Oh, Pitch, if I 'll freeze, it will be all your fault!».

With his sapphire eyes still full of hilarity he finally turn his back on the Boogeyman and, grabbing the staff leaning against the wall, he went along the corridor, walking slowly; when he arrived to the sharp bend he turned one last time, to address a serene look to the room and the bed on which he had just lain, then he disappeared behind the stone wall.

Pitch immediately let himself go with a deep sigh, realizing only at that moment that he had been holding his breath for almost all the time; curling his lips in a sarcastic expression he leaned his head against the wall, slowly closing his eyes as he tried to focus only on the rhythmic inhale and exhale.

Slowly, his wrinkled forehead smoothed and his look turned serious, almost severe, while some images spontaneously recurred to his mind, flashes of what had happened in the last hours: Jack attacking him, Jack chasing him, Jack kissing him and letting him seduce him, Jack hurting him with the power of his staff, Jack taking care of him and submitting to him again, Jack hugging him, Jack letting him caress him and begging, Jack finally coming in his palm, Jack smiling to him although he had been betrayed, Jack, Jack, Jack... Jack, who, as it seemed, just didn't want to leave him alone, harassingly recurring to his memories every time he tried to push him away, with his expression so damn happy, so mature, absolutely inexplicable and incomprehensible. Why, when he felt him clawing his throat just when he needed most to breathe, just when he was trustingly abandoned into his arms, had he smiled at him, so calm, so understanding? It didn't make sense at all. However, the Guardian had never shown so much judgment in his long life, devoted more to jokes than to seriousness: maybe he was still thinking this was just a game, maybe he was certain that he was holding the whip hand, that he could leave the game whenever he wanted, when the thrill of fear would have started to tinge each new experience, whatever it was. Oh, he was completely wrong in this case! Pitch would have never allowed him to run away, he would have called him back with the simple lure of temptation, shortening the leash every time, tying him more and more to himself, taming him until he would have been able to keep him on his side without having to use either rope or muzzle. Until he could call him without uttering his name, until he could manipulate him without a word. Until he could look into his eyes and see them overrun by fear, so wide with terror to show the entire iris.

Inevitably, the man recurred from his memories those two small blue rings, so beautiful, so clear and yet so deep, so sweet, as ardent as the ice he evoked was cold, as hot as it had been his semen in his hand. At that thought Pitch instinctively moved his right palm in front of his bowed face, looking at the skin is still wet with a stare expression, almost melancholy. Right now the liquid had cooled, like the room, like the passion: he was alone again.

Slowly he lowered his arm, leaning with his back against the wall, his eyes hazy, his head turned on the right side, his neckline and neck carelessly exposed, as if he was waiting for caring cuddles more than lewd caresses; after few moments, however, he shook himself and he erased the human expression he had shown, replacing it with the usual evil grin. Oh, what silly thoughts had occurred to him! Alone? He was never alone: a whole cohort of Nightmares followed him, whispering him the fears of people, and he just needed to do a little gesture to make it attack!

As if to confirm that to himself the man evoked a beautiful Pureblood Stallion, high and mighty, his eyes burning with an unhealthy yellow light, his jaws half opened to show a set of razor- sharp teeth. It was perfect, as always, of course: his fearsome servants could only be magnificent and terrible beasts. With his left hand he stroked the creature's neck, languidly following the muscles, voluptuous intertwining his fingers into the ethereal mane made of magic sand and not hesitating to tug it when he saw the cutting fangs getting too close to his shoulder; after all, the creature which he was in front of was and would always be a demon, deceivable, subjectable, but never tamable. He remembered too well how the dark host had had rebelled against him few months before, only because they have sensed his fear, and that should never happen again.

In one fluid motion he got onto on the Nightmare, bending on his neck to whisper him his destination, and, in doing so, he stretched the fabric of his robe on the back: immediately he felt a series of tiny burning stabs, painful and pleasing at the same time, and he realized that they were the light scratches Jack had made him.

Curious, he dropped the robe to watch them and he had to admit that those bruises were not exactly _light_: the shoulder blades were thickly decorated with marks, literally carved into the skin, in some parts so deeply they showed bloody scratches; the rest of the back was not visible to him from that position, but he could easily imagine how it had been reduced. The innocent Jack, after all, could be a very ardent partner.

He couldn't help giggling for the last mischievous thought he had done, but, soon regaining his seriousness, he dressed up, he tighten his legs to the sides of the Pureblood and urged him to walk along the corridor.

When he arrived at the sharp bent he stopped the animal and he turned one last time to look at the room, like Jack had done before him, lifting again in front of his face his right hand, still soaked with the fresh and spicy scent of the boy. Few seconds of suspension, then he lowered his arm, turning forward, abandoning all those sentimental and compassionate vestiges, becoming again the Boogeyman. Proud, arrogant, his back up and a cruel expression: this was his essence, his only way of being.

With an order and a well-aimed kick he spurred the beast, setting it off at a gallop. A ride through the night, in search of a new victim, and another one, and another one, to fortify himself. A ride to the victory, to prepare for the coming of a new era!


End file.
